Chained
by Kagedtiger
Summary: [Avenue Q] Set the day after the end of the play. Rod realizes that what he thought was the perfect solution to his problems may not have been exactly what he needed after all.


Chained

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**Notes: Avenue Q does not belong to me. It belongs to whoever made it and put it on Broadway. That being said. I think of the puppet characters as real people for the purposes of this fic, because I think you're supposed to even in the show, and if you don't, it's just kind of weird. Anyone, think of Rod as tall, slightly awkwardly lanky, with short red hair and glasses. Nicky is not fat, but slightly flabby from lack of exercise, with messy black hair and a face used to happy expressions. **

Warning: Lots and lots of angst.  
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I let him fuck me. What else was I going to do?

I honestly thought it was going to work, at first. I was so overwhelmed at seeing him, so certain that he was exactly what I needed, but... I don't know. I was stupid.

I knew almost as soon as we started that it wasn't going to work. He only made it worse. Oh _God_, how it hurt. Because he looked _exactly_ like my Nicky. (Albeit a more buff version; even I have to admit that Nicky is a little on the flabby side.) And I couldn't stop thinking about Nicky. I just couldn't. It was his face, staring at me the whole time. And it hurt so badly to know that what I had wanted for so long was so hollow, and fake. I wanted to cry.

He could tell. I'm not surprised. Afterward, he lay in bed next to me, his back propped up against some pillows, and stared at me for a long time.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" he said.

I couldn't answer him. Of course he could tell. It must have been obvious.

He sighed and stared off into the distance. "You should get over him, you know," he said. "He's straight."

"I know," I said in a small voice. I felt so Goddamned pathetic. Why hadn't I just turned the guy down? Maybe because he had been a gift from Nicky, and I _was_ trying to patch things up with him. Maybe because I had never been able to turn down Nicky. Dear sweet, annoying-as-hell, always cheerful Nicky. Nicky, who I loved so much it made me feel foolish.

He leaned over and kissed my cheek. I hardly noticed. I watched him as he slipped out of bed and got dressed. I admired his tousled black hair, and the lean planes of his back. I watched as he moved around the room, wearing the face of my angel, like a doll come to life for one of my fantasies. But he was not the one I wanted.

When he was ready to leave, he paused in the doorway and gave me a pitying look. "You have to let him go," he said softly. "You're gonna kill yourself if you don't."

I didn't have the energy to say anything, and just stared into space until he left.

When I finally came down to breakfast, Nicky was wearing that stupid knowing grin. As if he understood exactly what had happened. As if he knew _anything_! God, I hate him sometimes.

"I trust you had fun last night," he says snidely. Not that he would know. He slept on the couch last night so that I and his clone could have the bedroom. He'd been sleeping on cement recently, so it was no great hardship for him. But now, seeing him so smug about it, made me feel sick.

I didn't say anything, and instead helped myself to coffee.

"Did you get his number?" Nicky asked. God, he was just not going to let it _drop_, was he? Why the hell couldn't the idiot take a hint?

"No," I said curtly.

Nicky chuckled. "Well, that's okay. I still have it from when I called him. You really should take care of your relationships a bit more. If I didn't have it, then how would you ever see him again?"

I wanted to scream at him, to tell him that I didn't _want_ to see him again, that he had never been the one I wanted. But I didn't. I just sat at the table and opened up my newspaper, pretending to read. Pretending, because I didn't have it in me to really do anything. The letters swam in front of my eyes, and it was all I could do to keep from crying. I didn't want to fight with Nicky again. I really didn't. We had just made up, and I wanted us to have some small time to heal before we went re-opening old wounds. I was really too fragile for any sort of emotionally charged conversation.

Unfortunately, he kept pushing it.

"Come on," he said, "you have to give me something, here! I mean, he had a great body at least, right?"

"You know, you could have a body like that too if you ever bothered to work out," I snapped at him. I didn't mean to be angry. I was on my last nerve, and I felt so damn hopeless, and I wanted more than anything to just lean across the fucking table and just kiss him, just pour out my desparate confession and tell him that I loved him, that I had loved him for years and I had been so scared to tell him, scared to say anything, lest he might turn away from me and never come back. I wanted to cry and have him hold me and tell me that everything would be alright, that I didn't have to worry anymore and that he loved me too. But I was straying once again into the world of fantasy, and I knew it wasn't going to happen. I should count my blessings that he was even still friends with me after how I treated him.

Nicky was silent for a long, long time, and then finally, in a voice more serious than any I have ever heard him use, he said, "And tell me, Rod. If I looked like that, would it make things any easier for you? If, on top of everything else, I was also as good-looking as he is, would that really help your situation?"

I gaped at him. He _knew_! That fucking bastard _KNEW_!

"How long?" I croaked.

"Huh?" He looked confused.

"HOW LONG?!" I shrieked. In the back of my mind I knew I was losing it, but that's the thing about losing it; by that point you just don't care. "HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN?! You KNEW how I felt?! You knew the whole time and you let me keep my stupid delusions?! What kind of a friend are you, letting me torture myself like that?" Fuck, I thought, I think I'm crying. But I didn't care. I didn't care at all. I just slumped back into my chair and felt utterly miserable.

"Do you think it was easy for me?" This comment startled me enough to look up at him, and I saw that he looked... tired.

"It wasn't," he continued in that soft, serious voice. That voice was beginning to scare me. "I care about you, Rod. You have been my best friend forever, and I didn't want to lose that friendship any more than you did. But Rod, I can't give you what you want. I can't. Believe me when I say that if I could, I would in a heartbeat. But I'm just not like that. I wish things were different, but there it is. I want you to be happy. What else would you have me do about it?"

And just like that, I was defeated. I stared down at the wood grain of the kitchen table and tried to think of something, _anything_, to say. But there was nothing. What could I have said? He had neatly pinpointed the crux of the whole thing; he's straight, I'm not. And he was right. There _was_ nothing we could do about it. The only thing that might ever change was my feelings, though at the time I couldn't see how that was possible. My emotions sat in the pit of my stomach like lead weights, and it was hard to swallow.

"You need to get over me," he said, echoing the words that his clone had said to me that morning. "I'll leave if you think it would help. Even though I don't want to. I do love you, Rod, as a friend, and I'd like to stay here and continue that friendship. But if you don't think that that's possible, I'll understand and I'll leave Avenue Q. Then you won't ever have to see me again."

The thought of not seeing him tore holes in my gut, and I couldn't stop myself from saying, "No. Please, don't leave." I knew it would be bad if he left. I had barely survived his last departure; I knew I wouldn't be able to make it through a second time.

"I'll stay, then," he agreed. "But you have to start dating, or something. Find someone who really turns you on emotionally, who makes you happy. Someone you can relate to, and have fun with. Someone like me, or someone who's the exact opposite of me. I don't care. Just _please_, find someone to be happy with. Because I want that for you. Happiness."

I nodded, unable to speak around the lump in my throat. I stood up and made my way back upstairs like a coward. I sat on the edge of my bed, the bedsheets still disheveled and dirty from the previous night's activities. I still felt miserable, but Nicky's words had left an impression.

I _would_ do it. I would have to go out there and find someone who could make me forget Nicky. Or, well, not forget. Just someone who could make me feel loved, finally. Maybe even, as Nicky said, happy. I would do it. I would have to.

In the end, I never could refuse Nicky.

- THE END -


End file.
